I love the crazy look you get at night
when you think there might be rats nearby
Yet in the morning I come home and cry, thinking
like Spock: This feeling has all the characteristics of pain
Look at you, someone says; who, then, does
the looking? I hate the phrase “self-preservation”
I mean what, exactly, is one
preserving? Then I remember
about GUARD RAILS, GUARD RAILS
FOR THE HEART, how did I miss
that one? It’s all because
I’m an ectomorph, and you are too
“Lean and slightly muscular”
It’s our job, you say, our job to feel
Our job
to see it through